


We're Living On a Set Time

by anacondgenius



Series: Book of Sins [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, I'm Sorry, M/M, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anacondgenius/pseuds/anacondgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's POV.</p>
<p>Epilogue of 'This Game of Cruelty.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Living On a Set Time

It had been an hour.

Derek frowned down at his phone. Usually Stiles would have replied by now, since he was practically on his phone all the time, either it be texting or playing various apps during class. He had texted sometime earlier, asking the boy whether or not if he wanted to go out to eat tonight. If there were one thing Stiles would get excited about, it would be about getting free food. 

Though this time, it had taken Stiles longer than usual to text back, and this bothered him. His eyes wandered the entrance of the school, teenagers spilling out to go home. He didn’t see any familiar face. 

Hesitating, Derek let out a breath before he dialed the number next to Stiles’. 

A weary voice had picked up, along with the crinkling of a wrapper being put away hastily. 

“Sheriff Stilinski speaking.” The corner of Derek’s mouth tilted up when he heard how muffled the older man’s voice sounded, almost as if he was harboring several bites of greasy, processed food in his mouth. 

“John? It’s Derek,” Derek had sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was instantly regretting making the call. He probably sounded ridiculous, obsessing over his boyfriend so much that he had to actually call his father.

As if his relationship with his boyfriend’s father wasn’t on needles already. 

“I know I don’t call very often, but have you seen Stiles?”

“Well, school should be out by now…” A ruffling of clothing echoed from his phone, along with the shuffling of paper. 

“It’s not as if I can keep an eye on him all the time, being the sheriff and all. Besides, isn’t that your job? You’re the boyfriend.” Derek rolled his eyes, thankful that John couldn’t see.

“You’re his father.” 

“The father that is allowing you to date him in the first place, Derek. So don’t sass me.” There was the ringing of a phone in the background. There was more shuffling of papers as well as a whispered ‘thanks’ from the sheriff to some faceless helper. 

“You’re probably worrying for nothing. That kid has gotten himself in more trouble than I can count, and he’s probably fooling around with Scott. But I’ll try calling him later if that makes you feel better.” 

“Thanks, John.” Derek started to walk toward his car, his hand lingering on the handle of the door before opening it and seating himself into the front seat. “And if you don’t mind, I’m going to check if he’s home.”

“That’s fine. Spare key is under the flowerpot.” 

“Thanks.” Derek considered saying goodbye quickly so he could drive to Stiles’ home, but he couldn’t help but catch the sheriff off guard while he had the chance. 

He cleared his throat. “Also, sheriff?” 

“Hmm?”

“I won’t tell Stiles that you’ve been eating all that junk, okay?” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle when he hung up, the last thing he heard being the sputtering of the sheriff attempting to deny his accusations. But his laughter was slowly culled when he came back onto the situation at hand. He started the engine, quickly speeding out of the school’s parking lot. 

“Where are you, Stiles?” 

\---

It had been a week.

But it could have been longer than that, and Derek wouldn’t have even noticed.

There had been no witnesses, no clues. There had been no signs left behind that would help the sheriff and his crew find the missing boy. No hair, no fingerprints, no nothing. The sheriff was stretching himself harder than ever before, trying to find his one and only son. 

Derek buried his head in his hands, silent sobs and tears trailing down his arms and falling down onto his knees.

They had found Stiles’ backpack, lying lonely and muddy in the dirt. A couple of drops of blood splattered on the ragged cloth, suggesting struggle. There was no evidence left behind from the perpetrator. There was nothing to help Derek and the sheriff, except let them know that Stiles had been hurt. 

Or had been killed. 

They had absolutely refused to believe that.

Not yet. 

Derek felt a hand grasp his shoulder firmly. He felt the sheriff giving him a definite shake, though it had the undertone of weariness. 

“We’re going to find him, Derek.” 

If only he had the same faith as him.

\---

It had been a month.

“God, Stiles. Where the hell are you?”

There have been times where he drives aimlessly around Beacon Hills, until he finds himself at the door of the Sheriff’s house. Silent, the older man, who looks considerably more tired than usual, invites him in, and doesn’t comment when Derek immediately climbs the stairs and walks into Stiles’ room. 

He would crawl into the still untidy bed, and bury his face into the pillow that still smelled like Stiles. The smell of his shampoo, his soap, his cologne; everything that Derek loved about him was still there. 

He would stay there for hours, mixing his tears and his sobs into the pillowcase. 

He could remember the Sheriff coming into the room and laying a blanket over him, when he had cried himself to sleep. 

He would dream.

He dreamed that he was calling out to Stiles.

But remembered that there was no answer. 

\---

It had been a year. 

He found out from a phone call from John, his voice thick with anger and tears. 

His uncle had killed Stiles. 

There was nothing holding him back when he tackled his relative, gripping the collar of his shirt and nearly pulverizing his face. 

“You bastard! You fucking bastard!“ He had screamed, pulling his fist back to connect bone to bone. He didn’t care if he had broken his fist or not, or when the sheriff was calling for security, trying to pull him back. All he wanted to do was cause Peter so much pain that he begged for forgiveness. 

Though even then, Derek didn’t think he would have given it. 

He pulled up Peter until he was kneeling, who had fallen limp with blood pooling in his collar to snarl into his face. Angry tears streamed down his face, falling to mix in with the red puddle gathering at his feet. He could feel his face stretch with lines of fury, his face a mask of rage.

“Why’d you do it? Why-!“ Derek shook Peter, who was almost starting to look bored. Derek smashed his fist in his nose, hearing a sharp crack. “He was mine! I loved him, and you fucking killed him!“ 

Then Peter started to laugh, a deep, chilling laugh that rebounded around the room. He tilted his head, his blackened eyes glassy as he studied his nephew. 

“I don’t have to have a reason, do I? His uncle’s laughter died down to a chuckle, his blood bubbling from his mouth, and his eyes creased with mirth. Peter craned forward, his mouth inches away from Derek’s ear. Derek could feel splatters of blood sputter on his neck when Peter began to whisper. 

“Maybe it was because he was so delicious…”

And Derek was pulled away from his uncle with a multitude of hands, his screams mixing in with loud and unsettling laughter. 

\---

It had been an hour. 

Where security has thrown him into a holding cell to calm down, when they had told him. 

Told him the truth. 

That Peter had not only killed Stiles. 

But had been consuming him.

Eating him. 

Derek stumbled towards the toilet that was in the cell, his hand clamped over his mouth. He felt a surge rising from his stomach into his throat, the taste of bitterness climbing up at the back of his tongue. He choked out his breakfast, the muscles of his esophagus contracting so hard that he felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he didn’t want to breathe.

This couldn’t be real. 

It can’t be real. 

He had been told that Peter had been keeping Stiles alive. That he had been cutting parts of him off piece by piece. 

That he had been serving pieces of Stiles’ body parts to other people. 

Been serving to him. 

And Derek had enjoyed it. 

He had fucking enjoyed it.

Derek remembered being invited by his uncle to dinner, his relative claiming that it was his duty to know that his nephew was being properly fed. That he was too stressed out from his constant day and night searching. That he needed a comforting meal of roast veal tenderloin, one of Derek’s favorites.

Derek retched silently, his hands clutching the edge of the toilet.

There wasn’t even a body. There wasn’t anything left to bury under a tombstone. 

Anything left to remember him by. 

He had heard that Peter had been granted the death penalty. Derek didn’t even want to go into the same room as him, not wanted to confirm the fact that he was even related to this monster. That he had killed and tortured and fucking eaten the only person that he had ever truly cared about. 

The only person that he had ever loved since his family had died. 

He remembered that he was dragged from the cell by the sheriff and taken home, his form limp and unresponsive. He didn’t look up at the older man’s face. He just couldn’t, knowing that the sheriff was just as upset. 

He collapsed into the side of his bed, wailing and clawing into his sheets. He didn’t hear the door of his bedroom squeak open, accompanied with the loud sniffs of his sister. 

“Derek, Derek,” Laura sobbed, her hands clutching the back of his jacket, hugging him from behind and crying into the leather. She had fallen onto her knees, pressing her face into the back of his shoulders. 

But Derek didn’t care. He couldn’t feel anything. 

He just couldn’t. 

Not anymore. 

Not ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the ending is so sudden, but honestly how to you finish a story like this? 
> 
> Name is from Pendulum/Witchcraft
> 
> Again, sorry for being so late as well. (University sucks.)


End file.
